


The Root and The Heart

by Speaks_With_Bones



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind
Genre: Argonians, M/M, Morrowind, Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2019-04-30 12:34:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14497107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Speaks_With_Bones/pseuds/Speaks_With_Bones
Summary: An argonian prisoner is sent under heavy guard to the isle of Vvardenfell to atone for his crimes. Determined not to repay his debt to society, the mage schemes to find a way to break the destiny that has been handed to him, even if it means he must claw the gods from the sky.





	The Root and The Heart

At the yawning hours in which twilight gave way to the morning a ship rolled over the horizon, casting a long and jagged shadow over the quaint hamlet of Seyda Neen. Truly an ominous portent if ever there was one.

The ship's guard entered the lower levels of the vessel with the same reluctance as if they were tasked with wrangling a wild wamasu. A pale blue glow pulsed ominously from the dank belly of the ship and made the comparison all the more harrowing. “Whatever you do, don't take off his bracers. He'll blow this pile of driftwood to the bottom of the sea with all of us in it,” the captain said sternly, though he made no effort to be the first into the hold. Summing up all their courage, the armed squad pressed on to 'secure the cargo'.

Under lock and key and countless magic wards was a single prisoner, sitting hunched in a cell. It was easy to tell even from a distance it was no man or mer with the dull, throbbing glow that traced the shape of horns and spines down a long reptilian tail. He was covered in in fine scales that evoked the color and countenance of a cobalt sep adder; regal, deadly, and overwhelmingly blue aside from the pale, armored belly scales. Thankfully he didn't have wings like an adder, though his head was framed by elaborate fins that captured a similar aesthetic. A pair of scaly whiskers hung on either side of his maw, wiggling with the swaying of the ship. He was entirely nude, except for a pair of heavy manacles bound around his wrists, twinkling from their magick suppressing enchantment.

As the Imperials drew closer they identified the source of the eerie blue light illuminating their cargo. The horns and spines of the lizardman were intricately carved with symbols that ached with the softest hint of magicka despite the wards and shackles used to contain him. What kind of prisoner were they dealing with exactly?

“Alright, we're about to make port. Up and at'em prisoner,” the captain said, tapping the bars of the cell to rouse the argonian. The beastman rose to his feet without assistance, using his tail and oddly jointed legs to compensate for having his hands bound. He said nothing, but even with such alien features the escort could feel the venomous loathing that oozed from his eyes. They unlocked the cell and two men promptly grabbed either arm of the prisoner, forcefully walking him out of his cage.

“Do I make you nervous, hatchlings?” the argonian finally spoke. His voice was like the sandy mud at the bottom of an unsullied creek. Coarse and cold, and teeming with a microcosm of implications. He smiled a bit too wide, showed a few too many teeth for the imperial's liking, and pressed his tongue against the cheek of one of his escorts.

Crack! The startled guard had swung and smashed the lizard across the face. The argonian's head jerked to the side, but he only chuckled in response. He could smell the guard's frightened embarrassment despite the tough front. He allowed the nervous little dryskins to take him to the top of the deck without any more incident.

The port of Seyda Neen, if such a small and squalid parcel of land could justifiably be called a port, welcomed them with little fanfare. A single imperial gentleman dressed in noble attire met the armed regiment and took custody of the prisoner with far less tepidity than the shipsmen.

“Can you state your name for the record?” the new imperial asked, refusing to lift his eyes from his paperwork to even acknowledge the beastman.

“Root-Licker,” the argonian hissed, the guttural tone seeming to imply an offensive nature.

“Very well,” the clerk said, signing off on the papers. This wasn't the first surly prisoner the emperor had sent him and it certainly wouldn't be the last. He learned not to question it, nor participate in their shenanigans. If a criminal wanted to reintegrate into society with the name Cocksucker far be it from him to stand in their way.

He motioned for the lizard to follow, but made no efforts to lead him. Where else would a bound argonian wonder off to in Morrowind of all places? “There's a few forms you'll have to fill out and some documents we'll need notarized and then we can release you for your civic rehabilitation.”

“So you've shipped me a thousand miles to turn me loose? What's to keep me from simply swimming away right now?”

“Nothing, I suppose. Try it if you like. You'll be far less troublesome as a pair of enchanted boots, I'm sure,” the imperial gentleman smiled politely to his charge and opened the door to the Excise Office.

Root-Licker hadn't lived as long as he had by gambling. With his hands bound and his magic suppressed there was a very real chance something he was not prepared for could interrupt his important plans to 'not do whatever the empire tells him to do'. “Fair,” he said, the word laden with barbs as it choked its way up and fell from his mouth like a stone. He spent his time filling out the paperwork which asked him all forms of banal nonsense from the date of his birth to what 'skills' he considered his most proficient. He filled in the boring questions with complicated and obtuse answers and handed them back proudly.

His handler looked over the papers, nodded a few times, then tossed them in a rubbish bin. “Useless, but at least it kept you busy. Now I can hand you over to someone else and you'll be their problem, not mine.”

On cue the door to the office swung open and a young man dressed in official Imperial Legion armor stood at attention. “Antonio Nijoux, Imperial Legion Battlemage, reporting for my assignment Commander Teedus.” He was young for Legion Recruit, and the youth shone through in his bright, eager eyes that shimmered with the colors of High Rock's rolling verdant hills. Though he had his hood pulled over his head, a few winding tendrils of thick, curly brown hair could be seen poking through the otherwise very standardized look of a military grunt.

“Right on time, soldier. Now that you're here I can give you both your assignments. The two of you need to rendezvous with a man named Caius Cosades in Balmora and give him this package. Do not open this package. And Nine preserve you if you lose it, are we clear?”

“Clear, sir!”

“And if I refuse?” Root-Licker interjected.

Commander Teedus pointedly removed a key from his pocket and handed it to Antonio. He then stared down the argonian, as if challenging him to get quippy again. “Sir Nijoux has the key to your shackles, lizard. If you want them removed, you'll follow orders. Understood?” He then turned to the young man and met his eyes with equal intensity. “Do not, under any circumstances, unlock his bracers until you are ordered to. Better for you both to be torn apart by wild kagouti than turning this one loose. Do you understand?”

“Understood, sir,” the young man's voice wavered a bit at the thought, but he wouldn't dare rebuke an order of such high prestige. He thought carefully of how to phrase his concerns, not knowing the commander to be an understanding man. “I am... the only one to guard the prisoner, then?”

Commander Teedus held the argonian's steady glare as he answered the subordinate's question. “Yes. You're from Breton stock, that makes you largely resistant to magic,” he emphasized each word, leaning closer to the mage-prisoner as he did. “And a talented magick user yourself. Even though this one is locked up and shouldn't give you any trouble, you're naturally equipped to handle any funny business.” He then turned back to the soldier, holding out the package to Cosades. “Is that a problem, battlemage?”

“No sir! I just thought-”

“Good,” he shoved the package into Antonio's hands. He took a last look at Root-Licker and then handed the breton a few extra gold coins. “And buy a robe or something to throw over that thing. I don't want the natives to think we're in the habit of parading naked prisoners through their streets.”

“Y-yes sir,” he accepted the coins timidly and looked over at his charge. Though argonian nudity wasn't as... uncomfortably explicit as man or mer nudity, it was still a little stirring to look at him. Stirring? No no, unsettling, yes, that was the word he meant to think. “Well then, sir, let's be on our way to Arrille's. We can get you some clothing before the town folk are out and about.” The young lad smiled disarmingly and held a hand out to the mage.

The argonian peaked his brow ridge, holding his bound hands up to remind the other his hands were not exactly free. He breezed past the young breton and with his tail opened the door. “By all means, after you, sir,” he spat the last syllable like a poisoned dart.

And so the tone for their adventure was set as they departed the Census and Excise Office; the prisoner boldly walking in front of his escort, and the young man following him blindly but eagerly into Divines only know what trouble.

 


End file.
